The appurtenance of welcome is fashion and ceremony.

Lord Polonius: What do you read, my lord? Hamlet: Words, words, words. Lord Polonius: What is the matter, my lord? Hamlet: Between who? Lord Polonius: I mean, the matter that you read, my lord.

But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve For daws to peck at: I am not what I am.

He's mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf.

Oh! it offends me to the soul to hear a robust periwig-pated fellow, tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings.

He is white-livered and red-faced.

We must love men, ere to us they will seem worthy of our love.